


same result, new day

by youcouldmakealife



Series: between the teeth [45]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-07-18 21:23:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7331143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After five seasons spent losing with the Islanders, he can’t help but appreciate the other side of it, appreciate how <i>easy</i> it is to defeat them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	same result, new day

It’s a relief to get back to Washington. David knows he’s far from the only one feeling that way: he imagines the distance is even more striking for those with significant others, families, and when they get off the train Robbie says, with great emphasis, “I could kiss the fucking ground right now.”

“Me too,” Matthews says. “Thank you ground, for taking Extra Bitchy Lombardi away from me for a day.”

“You love me,” Robbie says dismissively. 

“I don’t want to see any of you fuckers ever again,” Quincy says, and David looks over warily. “Or before the day after tomorrow at least. Go home, get some sleep, get over your shit,” he adds, looking right at Robbie as he says it. 

Robbie tosses off a salute before muscling forward, saying, “See you fuckers later.”, and everyone scatters quickly after that. 

David doesn’t know why, exactly, the bed in his apartment feels so much different than a hotel bed, except maybe it’s simple context. Familiarity, because every hotel room looks the same, but none of them _are_ the same. Either way, he has the best night’s sleep he’s had since they left. He still wakes up feeling tired, that drag he knows will get more pronounced as the season wears on, wears him out. He’d been planning on some conditioning, maybe in the pool, maybe simple cardio, but he knows better than to push past the drag if it’s an off day, that it’ll rebound twice as strong if he lets it. Instead he wanders around downtown, ducking into the nearest Smithsonian when it gets too cold to keep walking.

He stays just long enough to thaw, take a few pictures with people who recognise him, and then a lot of pictures with a fifth grade class from Alexandria. Gets a text from Robbie while he’s eating lunch nearby, _you saw the dinos without me :(_ , so he supposes at least one of those pictures made it online, unless Robbie’s developed psychic abilities.

 _Sorry_ , he sends, immediately gets a _next time we’re dino hunting together dude_. David isn’t particularly interested in revisiting them specifically, but there were plenty of exhibits he didn’t see, so he doesn’t see the harm in agreeing.

It’s almost easy to forget they’re playing the Islanders again tomorrow until he’s in bed, thinking about Benson hounding him, saying who knows what to David’s teammates. Robbie didn’t say what it was Benson said, exactly, but he didn’t need to, and you hear something enough, you start to wonder if maybe it’s true.

David feels hot, itchy, and even turning down the thermostat doesn’t seem to help, so he has a night of sleep as poor as the previous one was solid, wakes up tired again, knows that’s something he should expect, going forward, but not liking it all the same.

During warm-ups Oleg sticks close to him, Robbie too, like they’re keeping themselves between him and Benson, and it’s embarrassing. David appreciates it, but it’s embarrassing. Benson doesn’t come over, and David doesn’t know whether that’s because they were there or not, but. He wonders if Benson’s going on to another Islander about David hiding behind his teammates. It’s the kind of thing he’d say.

Good news comes with the drop of the puck, because Benson isn’t on the ice, doesn’t climb over the boards until Quincy’s line is on, and once that cycle repeats a second time, it’s pretty clear Benson was pushed down to second line. David’s sure that’s temporary, probably just for this game, and it’s a smart modification considering Benson’s line was on the ice for most of the goals against two nights before, maybe also because Benson was more intent on trying to take David out than actually winning the game. It’s a relief, knowing that he won’t be tailing David all night, but more than that —

It’s not nice, David knows it’s not nice, but thinking about Benson getting reamed out after the game, blamed for the loss, told he’d play on the second line — 

David doesn’t mind thinking about it.

It’s a less messy game than the previous one. The Islanders game plan is standard, one David recognises from when they’re playing an opponent they don’t have much of a chance against, won’t be able to keep up with: take the body and capitalise on turnovers. David’s line was never expected to follow that, the only line that _could_ match teams in speed, but obviously the lines have changed. The Islanders first line, with Benson or without, doesn’t have a chance of keeping up in this game. David has more room to work without Benson constantly on him, knows the Islanders on the ice, Bradley especially, well enough to know favoured tactics, and they don’t have a chance at _all_. 

By the end of the first the Capitals are up 3-1, David has two points, and the lead looks like it’s only going to stretch further, snap tight, yet another win at home for the Capitals, who lead the league in home ice advantage. It’s premature, and David reminds himself of that, but after five seasons spent losing with the Islanders, he can’t help but appreciate the other side of it, appreciate how _easy_ it is to defeat them.

Benson hasn’t said a thing to David, and some of that could be lack of opportunity, but David wonders if that was another thing said to Benson after the last game. It seems more likely than Benson deciding to be the bigger man, since David being his _teammate_ hadn’t kept him from saying shit. He hasn’t stopped in general, apparently, because Robbie comes back to the bench and sits down with a disgusted, “How the fuck does that fucker not run out of breath when he spends the whole fucking game chirping?”

“Maybe because it’s so easy to chirp you?” Matthews asks, leaning over Quincy to say it. “Like dude, you’re wearing his fucking knuckle imprints on your face, I don’t think he’s scared of you.”

Robbie scowls at Matthews, then immediately winces. He didn’t look so bad immediately after the game in Brooklyn, but his face is lividly bruised now, right eye swollen half shut. David’s not even sure how he’s maintained depth perception. _If_ he’s maintained depth perception, actually, because the lone goal against was from a player Robbie was supposed to have. That’s an issue for coaching staff and medical, though. David certainly isn’t going to ask.

“Whatever, he’ll get his due. Only one thing that matters,” Robbie says, chin tilting toward the scoreboard, and David’s inclined to agree, but his due — beyond the Capitals increasing the lead to 4-1 — comes early, toward the end of the second, when David hears the roar from the crowd again, the same in every building he plays in, and leans over the bench to see Georgie with a fistful of Benson’s jersey.

Maybe Benson had definitively won the fight against Robbie, but he doesn’t stand a chance against Georgie, who has almost half a foot and at least thirty pounds on him. There’s a linesman trying to intercede almost before Georgie throws the first punch, but by the time Georgie and Benson have been separated Benson’s got blood trickling down from a cut under his eye, and he spits on his way to the penalty box, spattering blood on the ice that has to be cleaned up before they can resume play.

In the box, Benson holds a towel to his face like a mirror of Robbie the game before. Georgie, in the other, accepts his helmet, stick, and gloves from Quincy with a smile. He doesn’t have a hair out of place. David, inappropriately, is suddenly curious what kind of hair gel he uses.

“Smug fucking bastard,” Robbie says when he gets back to the bench, but he doesn’t actually sound angry for once.

Quincy, on the other hand, does. He returns to the bench after a long conversation with the referees and Berg, who’d traded his A for the C when Oleg gave it up. “Next one taking a shot at that moron is taking a shot from me, because your ass is going to get thrown out of the fucking game,” he snaps at the bench. “I don’t give a fuck,” Quincy says when Robbie opens his mouth, cutting him off before he can get a word out. “I don’t give a fuck what he said, consider him untouchable.”

The untouchable status doesn’t seem to go both ways, because Benson, visibly angry now, trips Quincy when he’s back at the start of the third, which goes uncalled, and then barrels into Crane on a two-on-one, making zero effort to stop before he hits the net, which does, and he glowers from the box for the next two, which the Capitals unfortunately can’t convert on.

The next time Benson touches the puck after his penalty a scattered boo follows, gaining momentum as the shift goes on, and at the end of it Robbie skates up to the bench. “That’s a beautiful fucking sound,” he shouts over at the Islanders’ bench before clambering up, and David bursts out laughing before he can help himself.

*

David’s barely home when Kiro calls him for the first time since the Panthers headed west for a road trip a week ago. They’ve been texting in the meantime, but their schedules have clashed too much for any convenience until now. David’s kind of surprised by the relief that washes over him when he picks up the phone, the way something settles in his stomach, though he still feels wound tight even after the decisive Capitals win. He probably should have worked it out after the game, but. He’s tired.

“What was going _on_ in those games?” Kiro asks, after they’ve exchanged the usual details: Kiro’s worried about Orange, whom he hasn’t seen in a week, and David’s tried to remind him that he trusts his catsitter and he’s sure she’s fine, but he’s not sure how well he’s managed. Kiro sounds cheerful, at least, but Kiro always sounds cheerful, so David’s not sure that means very much. 

“What games?” David asks.

“You know what games,” Kiro says, and before David can insist he does not, in fact, know which games, “against the Islanders, Davidson.”

“Oh,” David says. “Those games.”

“Yes,” Kiro says. “Those games.”

“Well,” David says, then considers what to say. He’s never mentioned Benson to Kiro, he doesn’t think. It’s not like he wants to think about him if he can help it. “Oleg said Benson is a little prick,” David says, to establish context, and because Kiro knows Oleg wouldn’t say that about just anyone.

Kiro bursts out laughing.

“What?” David says.

“Is Benson a little prick?” Kiro says.

“Yeah,” David says.

“Does Benson have a little—” 

“Kiro!” David says, and Kiro starts laughing again.

“The little men fighting was hilarious,” Kiro says, once he’s stopped laughing.

“They’re like our size,” David says.

“Little,” Kiro says agreeably, which David does not agree with. They’re both over the average male height, if below the average height for an NHL player, and Kiro shouldn’t be supporting that narrative, which is already far too common in NHL media.

“Okay,” Kiro says, just as agreeably, when David says as much. “Average men fighting.”

“Above average,” David says.

“Oleg called him a little prick and you agreed,” Kiro says. “Stop avoiding.”

“I’m not avoiding,” David says. “What would I be avoiding?”

“Why the fights?” Kiro asks. David doesn’t like the way Kiro always seems to know things before David even says them, like he knows what David’s answer will be already and he’s just waiting for David to confirm it. He’d assume someone had told him if they had mutual acquaintances beyond Oleg and Vladislav, because Oleg wouldn’t have said anything, and David didn’t see Vladislav at all. Kiro just always seems to know.

This probably means Kiro will keep prodding until he gets the answer he expects. “Benson was — I was Benson’s target in Brooklyn, I guess,” David says.

“I saw,” Kiro says. “I was watching the games.”

“Why?” David says. 

“Boring afternoons in California?” Kiro says, as if the trip to California wasn’t typically the highlight of an Eastern Conference team’s season. Maybe it matters less when you’re living in Florida and the trip doesn’t signal a respite from winter weather. He’s not even telling the truth — the Panthers were on the ice not long after the game at Barclays wrapped up, so there’s no way he would have been able to watch more than snippets unless he caught it later. 

“You shouldn’t have—” David starts.

“Stop avoiding,” Kiro says firmly. “Why the fights?”

“Robbie said he had my back,” David says. “After the fight. So I guess he had my back.”

Kiro doesn’t say anything.

“Kiro?” David asks.

“The second fight?” Kiro asks. He sounds kind of like he’s about to laugh, but David doesn’t know why. “Big man little man? Sorry, _average_ man. Almost as funny.”

“I don’t know,” David asks. “Georgie didn’t say anything about it. I don’t think even Robbie knows. Um, they’re D partners, so they--”

“He should join us,” Kiro interrupts.

“Pardon?” David asks.

“Robbie,” Kiro says. “Your knight in shiny armour. He should join us when I come to Washington.”

“Shining,” David says.

“So he is coming,” Kiro says, like that was confirmation and not a correction.

“I’d have to ask him, I don’t even know if he’d want to,” David says. “He probably wouldn’t.”

“Ask him, then,” Kiro says.

“He probably won’t want to,” David repeats.

“I am getting my hopes high anyway,” Kiro informs him. 

“Hopes up,” David says.

“Not high hopes?” Kiro asks.

“Oh,” David says. “Yeah, but—”

“I hate your language,” Kiro says. “I hate it. How does anyone understand anything?”

“I don’t know,” David says with complete honesty.

*

David doesn’t ask right away. Robbie’s still on edge around Georgie, which means he’s usually on edge. It’s not as bad when they’re at home, but it’s still noticeable, and David thinks if he’s noticed, everyone must notice. It can’t be good for a room. He won’t say anything, because Robbie obviously doesn’t want to talk about it and it isn’t any of David’s business, but David’s not much looking forward to their long road trip in January if it means that Robbie will revert to that constant anger he had in New York. Having his back or not, whatever Benson said, David doesn’t think Robbie would have fought Benson if Georgie hadn’t laughed at the idea of it. He’s obviously not a fighter: the bruises slowly fading testify to that.

Robbie’s cheerful two days before the Panthers are due to reach Washington, though, cheerful and friendly with everyone, even Georgie, at one point. Kiro’s been bothering David to ask Robbie for the past week, still calling him his knight, stubbornly continuing to use ‘shiny’ instead of ‘shining’ the entire time, and it seems as a good a time as any to ask.

“Get the dirty deets on you?” Robbie says. “I’m 100% in.”

“There aren’t any dirty…deets,” David says.

“That’s for your main man Volkov to confirm,” Robbie says. “Or not.”

“He’s not my man,” David corrects quickly.

“…Okay,” Robbie says, frowning at him now, and David wonders if maybe that was more obvious than saying nothing. “Your _pal_ Volkov. Dirty deets. That’s happening.”

“There aren’t any dirty deets,” David insists.

“We’ll see about that, dude,” Robbie says, back to cheerful, rebounding as quickly as Kiro does.

David wonders if maybe he should have a bad feeling about this. It seems prudent. He doesn’t, though. He feels surprisingly good about it. 

He wonders if that in itself should give him a bad feeling, but. It doesn’t.


End file.
